


Day Seven: Cosplaying (AKA "How the HELL do I even get INTO this thing, Q?")

by a_xmasmurder



Series: 30 Days of OTP: Bond/Q [7]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Conventions, It turns into a mission, M/M, Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots, Oh God this is weird, Skin tight clothing, Tokyo - Freeform, Vacation, and wild hair, bear with me, cosplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:20:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond is uncomfortable, Q is in his element, and there's a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day Seven: Cosplaying (AKA "How the HELL do I even get INTO this thing, Q?")

**Author's Note:**

> OH GOD. I spent all day thinking of how the FUCK I was going to get away with putting **_BOND_** in a costume. This is what I came up with.
> 
> I've barely heard of Metal Gear Solid, I did about ten minutes research and a whole lotta praying that I don't piss off the world because I've never been to a Con.
> 
>  
> 
> battens down the hatches and awaits the coming mob of pitchforks and torches

“Nope.” Bond looked at the...thing hanging in the closet. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on, James. It’s for a mission.”

“I’m not wearing this.”

“You will be able to carry weapons openly and pass them off as replicas.” Q smiled and adjusted the straps of the customized headgear he was holding, the one that looked real and was fake but had an actual HUD display in the faceplate and communications. So it was actually real. And if he was completely honest with himself, he was _geeking the fuck out_. Really. The suit hardly needed any adjusting, which made him want to cry in sheer joy. He turned his head to Bond, who stared at his Snake Eater costume, and fought to keep his voice at a human level. “And you get to kill some bad guys. What more could you want?”

“To be normal while doing so?” Bond shook his head again. “There is no way in hell I’m getting into that.”

“It’s not that bad, is it? You will look fine.” Q waved his hand at Bond’s back and walked the rest of the way into the bathroom to finish his Raiden cosplay costume. _This is going to be so worth the massive amount of Xanax and vodka I consumed on the way over here_. He pulled a straightener out of what he liked to call his Con-Kit and plugged it in, smoothed heat-reactive mousse in his hair, and rummaged in the bag for his blue contacts. “Don’t you pride yourself on doing anything in your power for a mission? This is very important, James, don’t forget that we are looking for a loose nuke.”

“It’s bloody skin tight!” The indignant shout from the master bedroom made Q giggle under his breath.

“As if half your suits aren’t?”

“They have room to breathe, Q, this thing has a cup. A _cup_!”

Q looked down at himself, smiling even wider. “So does mine, and believe me, it’s flattering.”

“Q!”

“Just put the bloody thing on, we haven’t got all day!” The straightener’s little light turned on, and he picked it up to start on his mess of curls and pointedly ignored Bond’s little bitch fit. He heard the hangers rattle, which was a good sign. He made short work of his hair, then pulled out the white spray that would change the colour. When at all possible, he avoided wigs because the mesh would make his skin itch. Damn his sensitive skin. With the judicious application of many hair products, he could recreate many hairstyles, something that could come in handy one day if he were to need to go undercover for some reason - like now. He flicked on the overhead vent with one finger as he shook the can of hair colour spray with the other hand, and grinned at himself in the mirror. “This is going to be so much fun.”

  
  
  


“But I haven’t even _heard_ of Metal Gear Solid 4, damn it,” Bond muttered under his breath. He cocked his head and stared at the fucking skin suit Q had presented him with this morning before he’d even gotten a cup of coffee into him. Now he was regretting the coffee and wishing he’d just gone with the mini-bar. The whole mini-bar. _I can’t believe he expects me to wear this fucking thing._ He could hear something spraying in the lav, but all he could see was a cloud of white. _Brilliant. He’s going to suffocate in there._

Keeping to Q’s wishes, Bond had kept his eyes to himself as the man dressed himself. But he really wanted to know what Q was wearing. It was burning a hole in his head. It'd better be as ridiculous as his costume. He tossed one final glare at the black and grey whatever-the-fuck the thing was supposed to be, and stripped his t-shirt over his head and unbuckled his belt. _What the hell. Why not? It can’t actually be that bad._

The leggings themselves weren’t too bad after all. The material was breathable and actually rather comfortable, which came as a complete surprise to Bond. He couldn’t wear underwear with it, which probably was the only complaint he had. The upper part was attached to the leggings, and that made things much easier in the long run, even if he did have some issue getting his arms into the sleeves. _These things were meant to show off the musculature and be as skintight as possible to act like a wetsuit,_ Bond thought, going through the dialogue from the last time the SIS had introduced bodysuits like this to the Double Os. This one wasn’t made for combat, though, which made him feel slightly uncomfortable - or was it that his left testicle was sitting rather uncomfortably on the damned cup plastered on his crotch? He tried shifting his hips, and it slipped back into position. Bond sighed in relief. _I might actually kill Q after this. Q first, then M, and go walkabout for a few years._ He snatched the custom equipment off the bed, the stuff that the R and D department made especially for this mission. Bond could tell because it matched the fake equipment that this Snake character wore to the letter. Maybe he’d just bomb MI6 headquarters, take care of the whole lot. He zipped the suit up and put everything on, adjusting straps and snapping snaps and holstering weapons. The final one was a concession to the video game: a silenced assault rifle that Q had designed and machined completely by hand, chambered to five point fifty six millimeters and made to look exactly like Snake’s rifle. Therefore, it didn’t look real. But he was there when Q test-fired it. It was real. Very real.

He got the white wig and fake mustache on, and glanced in the mirror above the headboard of the bed, smirking at himself. Hell, he really didn’t look half bad! He tied on the black headband and set up the earpiece. For once, he was actually starting to feel good about this mess. A muttered curse from the bathroom, heated and deep, made him turn his head.

He almost dropped the rifle.

  
  
  


Q slipped the headgear over his face and made the final adjustments, making sure that it stayed in position, and flipped the face armour up and down to test the joint. Everything was working perfectly, right down to the strange boots he was wearing. He gave himself one last once-over in the full length mirror on the back of the door, impressed at the padding Samuel had added to the cyborg outfit, giving his body the musculature it needed to fill it out. Smiling, he opened the door, took one step out into the main room -

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Bond looked... Q’s brain blue-screened as it fought to find a word that conveyed the encompassing collective keysmash his body was doing. Wasn’t breathing autonomic? Why was he having to remember to suck in air? Bond turned and did a very accurate physical description of Q’s brain.

“Oh, my God, Bond,” Q breathed.

Bond, for the record, didn’t seem to be capable of speech. The hacker had to remind himself that this wasn’t actually his body Bond was looking at. But then again, the Double O kept finding himself in Q’s bed. Or the other way around. So maybe it didn’t matter that Q wasn’t built like Raiden. Bond, on the other hand, didn’t need padding. Each of his muscles stood stark against the material, making Q’s mouth water. He swallowed, glad that part of his body was still functioning...and then his mind went right down into the gutter. _I wonder if I could take him that far down, enough to swallow around him?_ He realised Bond was talking, finally talking. What was he saying?

“I’m sorry?”

Bond huffed, and he seemed to have gathered his wits around him once more. “I was saying that we should get a move on if we are going to...are you wearing heels?”

Q looked down. “Yes.”

“Alright then?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

Raiden nodded, gathered his (thankfully fake) blade and his messenger bag, then followed Snake out of the suite.

  
  
  


“Comm check, 007.”

“Confirmed. I can hear you.” Bond had to admire the sheer balls of some of these people. He tried not to stare at one in particular who actually was dressed up as Jabba the Hut. He decided to turn away from that one. “That’s some setup you have there.”

“Thank you. I did it myself.”

“Of course you did.”

They moved through the heavily crowded convention floor, staying in sync and in character. Bond could tell one major flaw in Q’s plan to infiltrate this convention of all things geek - as ...whatever the hell they were called... they were almost required to stay in character almost the entire time because of fans, pictures, roleplaying...the possibilities were endless here. He scowled as they were accosted by a group of Japanese lolitas - that style, he knew about - who wanted photos with them. Once free again, Q snorted.

“This could be so much worse, 007, and you know it.”

“Not by much.” His right testicle was now traveling, and he couldn’t imagine that the hacker could be comfortable in the bloody heeled boots he was wearing. His head swiveled, looking for their target, Nikolai Akenyov. “Damn it, could he be...dressed up too?”

“Cosplaying? Doubt it. He might have thought of it, but it would have to be something recognisable to his cohorts. Most likely not, then.”

“So why the hell did we do it?”

“Akenyov knows what we look like, Agent.” Q smiled and paused to pose for a camera. “Besides, we can get away with looking like agents looking for something or someone because that is our character. Trust me, this was the best idea I could come up with in such short notice.”

Bond scowled in memory. M had called personally two days ago with the mission, ruining his plans of treating Q to the best sushi around. Naturally, that was in Japan. So here they were, in Tokyo, taking a mini-vacation, and now they were on a time-sensitive mission _and was Q actually happy about this?_ Bond stared at him. _He was!_ The Quartermaster looked like he was having the time of his life.

Bond smiled.

This is the perfect vacation, after all.

 

 

* * *

 

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _

  



End file.
